The Years Within a Night
by WhiteDahlia13
Summary: After he is attacked by Donovan, Stiles goes to Lydia for help. 100% Pure Stydia. Refers to Episodes: A Novel Approach (05x05), Alpha Pact (03x11), Orphaned (04x06), Perishable (04x09), and Condition Terminal (05x04).
1. Sight Unseen

**12:58 AM**

Lydia Martin couldn't sleep – but that was not unusual. She was sitting cross-legged in bed with a careworn expression on her face, dressed in black shorts and a pink cotton top that casually draped off of one shoulder. Her left hand rested lightly on the opposite side of her abdomen. Below it, a sterile white bandage, covering a three-inch-long sutured wound – the wound she got when Tracy sliced her open and spilled her blood on the floor of the Sheriff's Station.

She had been released from the hospital five days ago, and for the fifth night in a row, Lydia picked up her sketchbook and propped it in her lap. Drawing had become cathartic for her, and with everything that had happened in the past few months, she found herself wanting…even needing to draw, more and more.

Now, the sketchbook was nearly full. Lydia had been carrying it everywhere and its battered binding told the story. As she sat there, wide awake, with a pencil in her left hand, she couldn't shake a gnawing sensation of dread.

Slowly she began to mark the blank page before her. The curves and lines gradually came alive as Lydia patiently added detail after detail to the image – eyes. Not just any eyes. The same she had been drawing for months. Every single night. For some reason, each time she drew them, she felt reassured. She didn't know whom they belonged to, but their warmth seemed familiar. A wealth of emotion emanated from within those eyes. It was as if they were trying to speak to her.

The petite strawberry-blonde became more engrossed in her work with each passing second, her bedroom noiseless save the grinding of a worn-down pencil marking the page of her book. With one eyebrow arched and her head tilted to the side, she determinedly focused on a distant echo. While Lydia continued to glide her pencil against the paper, the noise grew louder and more distinct. It was the clamor of metal crashing down; a sharp, repetitive, disharmonious clanking. Just as she filled in the details of the irises, a glint of something silver flashed in her mind…but in an instant, it was gone. Lydia repeatedly traced the lines with her pencil hoping that the sound of graphite against the fibers of the paper would reveal additional information. Minutes passed. She did not hear the sound again.

* * *

 **1:24 AM**

Suddenly, a knock at the window broke the silence – first making Lydia jump, then catalyzing a familiar fluttering in her stomach. There was only one person who would be outside her bedroom at this hour. _Stiles_.

As she rose from the bed, a wave of nervousness rushed over her. Although she was excited by the prospect of seeing him, she was painfully aware that it had been several months since Stiles last visited her. Something that previously offered nothing but comfort and reassurance, something as unique as the rhythm of his knuckles tapping on her window pane, now gave Lydia the impression that the unrelenting dread which plagued her all night was actually warranted.

She crossed the room to draw the curtains and open the window. While typically her friend would have greeted her with a crooked grin…followed by a witty remark or a transparent excuse for why he was at her bedroom window in the middle of the night, this time Stiles said nothing.

He stood motionless, face masked by shadow, voice barely a whisper when he asked, "Did I wake you?"

"No, I couldn't sleep. Come in," she answered. When he remained static, his form practically consumed by the dark cover of night, Lydia blindly reached for his arm and spoke again. "Come on…come inside."

Stiles reluctantly climbed over the windowsill and stepped past her, dragging the cool night air in behind him.

First pausing, then shutting out the unsettling stillness beyond her window, Lydia turned towards him, looking up to meet his eyes. As soon as they connected, her stomach plummeted and her apprehension expanded. The boy before her looked dazed and unbalanced. It smashed the hope that Stiles had come by simply to spend time with her, chilling her to the core. Something was seriously wrong, and it was written all over his face.

"Stiles, what happ—" Lydia started to say.

Before she could get the words out, he crumpled into her arms. His body crushed against hers, then his arms came up to surround her as he buried his face in the crook of her neck…and all she could do was hold onto him.

Lydia could feel Stiles shaking through ragged breaths, distributing shock-waves of fear and worry through her ribs…straight to her heart. The sensation activated an urgent and powerful need to protect him. It gave Lydia the strength to transform her anxiety into action, so she tightened her embrace in the hopes that she could calm him.

After an extended moment, they parted. Stiles's body language was tense – his jaw clenched tightly, his eyes fixed on the floor. Even in the dimly lit room, Lydia could see that he was terrified.

She tried again. "Stiles, it's okay. I'm right here. I am going to help you. Can you tell me what happened?"

He took a breath, and his lips parted but no sound came out.

Lydia stepped back only to find another reason to be concerned because Stiles hands and shirt were covered in blood. "Oh god, Stiles," she exhaled, eyes widening with shock. Her heart was pounding as she pushed layers of cotton aside, hastily searching for the source of the blood.

"It's not mine," he replied. The tenor of his voice was horse and uneven.

A burst of images – faces of all the people they cared about, flashed through her mind. _What if it was his dad or Scott?_ She forced herself to swallow, so she could speak. "Is it any one of our friends or family?"

He shook his head.

Lydia put her hands on his arms. "Okay. It's going to be okay. First, we need to get you out of these clothes. Take those off, and I'll get you something else to wear." She tried to look into his eyes, but they were shaded by his lashes and remained focused on the floor. "I won't be long."

Though it troubled her to move away from Stiles, Lydia's instinct to care for him took control. She hurried down the hallway to the guest room. Without hesitation, she retrieved a grey tee and a pair of black sweatpants from the dresser. The intense desire to get back to Stiles, propelled her forward with such speed, she wasn't entirely sure she was in control over her own body.

She returned to the bedroom to only to find that he hadn't budged an inch. His hands were trembling so violently that he couldn't even manage the buttons of his shirt. The scene made Lydia painfully aware of his anguish, and a sharp tightness clutched at her chest. It physically hurt her to see this boy, whom she grew up with, and who had come to mean so much, struggling so severely.

Cautiously, so as not to startle him, Lydia closed the space between them. "It's alright. I can do that," she said, tenderly covering his battered hands with her own to quiet them.

While she unfastened the buttons of Stiles's flannel shirt, she noticed the shallow intake of his breaths. Momentarily stopping her work, she looked up at him. His deep brown eyes, which were normally full of gold flecks, were now dark, dilated, and saturated with tears. It triggered a brief impression of déjà vu but she let it pass, observing that Stiles was biting his lip. He had a habit of doing so when he was upset or trying to solve a problem, and now he was putting so much pressure on his poor bottom lip that it was starting to bleed.

She moved her hand to his chin, tugging at the corner of his mouth with her thumb. "Stiles, stop. You're hurting yourself."

He obediently released his lip and opened his mouth to speak.

Hearing the breath catch in his throat, Lydia interrupted him. "Shhh…you don't have to talk right now. Let's get you cleaned up first and then we'll figure everything out – together." Lydia pressed her cool palms to his flushed face and wiped the tears that were dampening his cheeks. She let her hands linger repeating the words _it's okay"_ until Stiles finally exhaled, allowing comfort to radiate from her words and touch.

After the last of the buttons were undone, Lydia began to push the shirt over his shoulders. Stiles shifted his arms to accommodate her, and for a split second, she thought she saw him wince. The expression faded so swiftly that she wasn't sure she had really seen it, so Lydia went on. She draped the shirt over her desk chair, then grasped for his tee shirt. Her heart rate increased as she lifted the hem, causing her to hesitate; timidness uncharacteristically shadowing her usually confident personality.

The reaction surprised her. _I am being ridiculous!_ she thought. _This isn't the time to be shy._ _I've seen him without a shirt on before._ _Of course…that was at the beach…in broad daylight…surrounded by friends – not in my bedroom…in the middle of the night…just the two of us_.

In this setting, an undeniable level of intimacy was present; the air thick with emotion – emotion that Lydia was not currently prepared to face. An increasing rush of heat in her cheeks told her she was blushing – which she usually never did – and the realization made her feel unsteady.

Working diligently, to steel herself, she slowly pulled the tee upwards, revealing Stiles's lean torso. She sucked in a breath, along with her bottom lip, feeling him shudder as her fingertips lightly connected with his skin. Her eyes swiftly flicked to his face to check for a change in his expression. For the moment, Stiles remained stoic, but when he lifted his arms above his shoulder, so she could remove his shirt, Lydia saw it – Stiles had definitely winced in pain.

She abruptly stopped but he nodded, silently mouthing _It's alright_ and urging her to keep going.

As carefully as possible, Lydia lifted the blood-stained garment over his head and placed it aside. "You're hurt. Let me see," she directed, and Stiles turned around. Lydia couldn't help but gasp at what she saw.


	2. Aftermath

**1:43 AM**

Reflexively, Lydia placed her hand over her mouth. There was a large mark on Stiles's right shoulder. It was raw and bloody, and circular in shape.

"Is that a bite mark?" she said with shock, lightly placing her hand on his back. The entire area was bruised and inflamed, with even the slightest touch causing Stiles to flinch. "Sorry. I'm sorry," she apologized.

He motioned subtly, waving his arm to tell her it was okay.

"Who…what did this to you?"

"Donovan Donati," he said flatly.

As she came around to face Stiles, Lydia could now see a series of bruises along his chest and abdomen. Instinctively, she reached out to touch him, and his muscles tightened underneath her fingertips. She tensed in response, considering the damage that could be hidden from her sight. "I'm taking you to the hospital," she told him firmly.

He shook his head. "No. You can't. I can't. They'll want to know," he resisted.

Lydia pressed, "Stiles, that bite…you could get an infection. You might have broken ribs or internal bleeding. We need to make sure you're going to be okay. We could go to Melissa."

"I can't go there," he insisted. "I can't explain…Lydia, _please_ ," he stressed, placing his hands on her shoulders and hunching down to look into her eyes.

 _Please._ That was it – the magic word. On a good day, hearing Stiles plead could reduce Lydia to a puddle of mush – not that she would admit it to anyone. Right now, paring that word with the vulnerability in his eyes shattered her heart into a million tiny pieces. He was the only person who could express a single syllable in such a way. She would be furious with him if she thought he had any idea of the influence he had on her.

"Alright," she replied begrudgingly. "I'll do the best I can, but Stiles, I am serious – if there is even the slightest sign that you are developing a temperature, I'm calling Melissa."

He opened his mouth to protest but she went on.

"Listen to me. I won't hesitate. If you get an infection, you could die. Do you hear me?" She meant to stop talking, but the words kept flowing. "Stiles, _you could die_ , and I _can't_ lose you. _Not you_. You have to understand that."

They were standing so close Lydia could scarcely breathe. Though she was, to some extent, embarrassed at the frankness of her words, she fought the urge to break eye contact with him. Lydia thought she saw a flicker of surprise there, and again an image flashed into her mind that she couldn't hold onto.

"Stiles, promise me that you won't fight me on this," she managed to say as unshed tears pooled in her eyes. "What if it were the other way around?"

Her distress seemed to soften him. "Okay, I promise," he agreed, drawing her into a hug; chin resting on the top of her head, hands at the small of her back, hot bare skin wrapping her in comfort.

She locked her arms around his waist, being mindful not to squeeze too tightly. They remained that way for an extended length of time, then Lydia led Stiles into her bathroom. She motioned for him to sit, and he complied. After filling the sink with water, she drenched a soft cloth in its warmth.

"This is going to sting a bit," she warned.

Methodically, she cleaned the wound behind his right shoulder. She could tell that it was an effort for Stiles to sit still. From her recent experience with Tracy, Lydia was fully cognizant how much the process must be hurting him, and she admired how brave he was being. When the painstaking process was complete, she took a large gauze pad, applied antibiotic ointment to it, and gently secured it in place over the bite.

"I'll change the bandage in the morning – sooner if it bleeds through."

Tapping her hand on his left shoulder, Lydia encouraged Stiles to turn and face her, so she could direct her attention to his hands. Emptying and refilling the sink, she submerged both of their hands under the water, gingerly maneuvering his palms and fingers to cleanse all traces of blood. Then, she dried his hands with a fresh towel, being attentive of his bruised knuckles as she did so. Lydia took her time, deliberately looking Stiles over, wanting to be certain not to miss any injury. Without thinking, her hand came up to smooth his hair in place. She let her fingertips drift downwards and stopped under his chin, nudging him to look at her.

The gentle affection Lydia conveyed seemed to affect Stiles rather profoundly. He grasped her hand and clutched it tightly, blinking back the fresh tears that were forming in his eyes. Quivering lips, cinched brows, and tortured eyes, he hid his face in her hand.

Helplessness crept over Lydia as his tears collected in her palm and cascaded down her wrist. She wanted nothing more than to ease his pain or better yet, to take it from him. "Stiles, it's going to be alright. I'm here. I'm with you, and I'm going to help you."

"Thank you," he breathed, kissing the center of her palm.

Quite taken by the gesture, Lydia ignored her instinct to maintain the current boundaries of their friendship. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his forehead. Instantly, she was reminded of the first (and only) time she kissed him – the memory causing her own eyes to sting and the all too familiar fluttering in her stomach to return. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

After an extended moment, she pulled away hesitantly. "I almost forgot." She stepped aside to fill a glass with water and took two ibuprofen tablets from the medicine chest. "Take these, they will help with the inflammation."

Then she carefully helped Stiles into the clean tee shirt and put her arm around his waist to help him stand. She handed him the pair of sweatpants and told him to meet her in the bedroom.


	3. Accountability

**2:22 AM**

Lydia nervously paced and tidied her already organized room. She was overwhelmed with anxiety that impressed the need to move upon her. All the fidgeting she was accustomed to seeing in Stiles made perfect sense to her in those quiet moments, but she was determined to be steady and calm for him. He needed her support, and she was going to make sure he knew he could rely on her. Taking a few deep breaths, she perched at the edge of her bed and waited.

When Stiles emerged from the bathroom, she walked over to help him, slipping her arm around his waist and guiding him across the room. He looked more like himself but was clearly exhausted; his eyes red from crying, his body slackened and weary.

Together they sat at the foot of her bed and the room fell silent once more. Lydia took Stiles's hand, and he immediately laced his fingers with hers.

"You can tell me what happened. Whatever it is…I'll listen, and we'll figure it out," she promised.

He took a deep breath and recounted the story with as much detail as possible. He had been working late in the school library and had fallen asleep. "When I woke up, it was a little before 1 AM. I headed to the Jeep but the engine started smoking before I could even back out of the parking space. I was working under the hood, and out of nowhere I felt this searing pain in my shoulder."

His voice was low but steady while he explained the struggle in the parking lot, how Donovan followed him back to the library, that he must have dropped his phone, and how Donovan had claimed it.

"I was leaning up against a bookcase, somehow he was behind me again…and he locked his arm around my throat. We struggled again and we fell…I got up, and I tried climbing one of the construction scaffoldings. He grabbed my leg and was dragging me down. I started to slip but then, from the corner of my eye…I saw a flash of silver."

Lydia's eyes widened as Stiles described how the shelf, along with everything on it, came loose when he removed the pin.

"These metal rods came crashing down all around me. When I looked back…I saw that one of them had gone through Donovan's chest. I climbed down. He…he was still alive. There was blood everywhere…Lydia, there was so much blood. I reached for the rod…I don't even know why…pulling it out wouldn't have helped…but that's when I got his blood all over my hands. Donovan twitched, and then he was dead," he continued, voice breaking with emotion.

He paused for a breath, looking down at his hands as though they were still covered in red stains. Lydia watched in dismay as Stiles shook his head, trying to erase the image from his mind. He angrily wiped tears from his face, so she squeezed his hand, hoping to be reassuring.

Next, he told her that he called 9-1-1 from the library phone but that when dispatch answered, "I couldn't…no, I _didn't_ speak. I hung up. I was bracing the door open when I heard a phone buzzing. I remembered Donovan had mine. I took it from his shirt pocket and left."

"I…I got to the Jeep and managed to get it running. I heard sirens…dispatch had sent an officer to check out the school. So, I shut the lights and listened on the police scanner. Then, I heard the officer report that there was no one in the school…that it must have been a prank. I waited for him to leave and when I got back to the library, Donovan was gone. He wasn't just gone…the library was clean – as though nothing had happened. I thought I must be losing my mind, but then I saw a trace of blood on the scaffolding. I didn't know what else to do. The first thing I thought of was to come here."

While Stiles described the trauma he had been through, Lydia had already made the connection between her drawing and the sounds and images from her vision. She was sure she needed to tell him about the link, but decided it was not the time.

He thought for a moment, sucking at the sore he had made on his lower lip. "Lydia, I'm the Sheriff's son…and I left a crime scene – a homicide…and now I've involved you. I've done everything wrong. I shouldn't have come here."

"Don't say that," Lydia tried to interject.

"What the hell was I thinking? I've made you an accessory after the fact." The stress he was under scratched directly through his voice.

"Stiles—"

"You have to believe, Lydia – the last thing I _ever_ want to do is hurt you…in any possible way. I would rather… I need to leave." He stood up, but Lydia kept the grip she had on his left hand.

"Stiles, stop! Sit down and listen to me!" she said, half shouting.

He flinched but submitted, looking stunned.

At once, Lydia regretted the harshness in her voice. She shut her eyes to gain composure. "I'm sorry. I know you're scared. I didn't mean to yell."

"I know," he replied softly.

 _How is he so understanding…even now?_ she thought. Adjusting her position so she was facing him, she went on. "What I mean is – I don't want you to go. You have better instincts than anyone I know, and your instinct told you to come here for a reason."

He began to object, but she placed her index finger to his lips to silence him.

"Stiles, you are _not_ leaving. First of all, you are hurt. You're in shock, and you need to rest – otherwise a trip to the hospital is going to be unavoidable. Secondly, it's really important that you understand this – what happened was an accident. Donovan attacked you…he has made it clear, more than once, that he wanted to hurt your dad…and he chose to do so by coming after you. You were only defending yourself. There's _no way_ you could have realized that loosening a shelf would lead to that outcome. And third, _this_ is exactly where you should be. Stiles, I know you would never do anything to put me at risk. The same way I know that none of this was your fault. I'm sure of it."

"How can you be? When I was standing over him, I thought to myself…I thought… _Good_. What kind of person does that?" Ashamed, he turned away, but Lydia took his face in her hands, forcing him to make eye contact with her.

"No. That wasn't you, that was the fear talking. Donovan threatened you. He threatened your dad. Stiles, I _know_ you. You are good." Her voice splintered with emotion. "Not just good. You are the best person in my life. Nothing could ever make me doubt you."

Realizing the magnitude of her words, Lydia blushed once more, but she didn't care. She had to make him understand. For a moment they gazed, lost in each other's eyes. Again, a feeling of déjà vu washed over Lydia, but she disregarded it.

Stiles leaned forward touching his forehead to hers and letting out a sigh. "What am I going to do?"

"I think you mean _we_ , and right now we aren't going to do anything. Stiles, you're exhausted. You need to rest." He looked at her reluctantly, so she coaxed further, "You don't have to sleep, but at least lie down for a bit... _please."_

Now it was her turn to use that word on him. She wondered if it had as much influence when it passed her lips. He nodded and stood up, this time moving towards the floor.

"What are you doing?" she inquired. "I meant here."

He remained still, looking at Lydia with uncertainty.

"On the bed," she clarified, motioning towards it.

Obviously surprised, lips parted and eyes searching her face, he waited.

"Come on," she insisted as she stood next to him, placing her hand on his forearm. "I promise, it will be much more comfortable than the floor, and there is plenty of room for us both."

He nodded in silent agreement, wincing as he straightened his posture. Lydia steered him towards the right side of the bed. When he turned to face her, he made eye contact and touched her cheek with his hand. "Thank you," he whispered for the second time.

"You don't have to thank me…Stiles, I'd do any—" she pursed her lips, cutting the admission short. "You're welcome."

He appeared to have grasped what she was implying. Stiles always understood her. He traced her cheekbone with his fingertips, thoughtfully looking down at her like she was the light at the end of a dark tunnel. It was an expression she had seen several times before, including the time she kissed him, and it made Lydia deeply aware of their connection.

She smiled bashfully and put her hands on his good shoulder, coaxing him to sit down. Then she neatened the sheets and blankets around him and touched his forehead to check for any sign of a temperature. "Go ahead. Lie down," she encouraged him.

Stiles slid under the covers with a grimace, his whole body beginning to shiver as Lydia pulled the covers up to his chin.

"Are you cold?" she asked.

"A little," he admitted, briefly closing his eyes.

Lydia quickly walked to the opposite side of the bed as Stiles turned onto his side to face her. She crawled in next to him, unrelenting tugging beneath her ribs as she looked into his beautiful brown eyes and nestled herself near to him. Her mind assured her that she was only seeking to help Stiles get warm, but her heart told her that she needed to be close to him…because she almost lost him… _again_ …and he still didn't know…

Stiles matched her gaze with intensity, cheeks flushing as their skin made contact. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, they wrapped their arms around each other; Lydia with one arm tucked in between them and the other curled under his shoulder, carefully avoiding his wound; Stiles with arms encircling her waist, thumbs immediately tracing circles on her back. Their faces were mere inches part; unexpected level of comfort blossoming between them in that moment. Both had experienced incredible pain in their brief years, but it was manageable because they were together.


	4. Insight

**3:13 AM**

Neither of the pair could sleep. They faced each other on the bed, a crystal lamp providing the only breach in the blackness that enveloped them. It shone over Lydia's shoulder with enough glow to illuminate Stiles's face. She couldn't help staring at him. Tracing every feature with her eyes, she tried to memorize each angle, curve, and hollow. A pang of remorse cut through her. At a time like this, she knew it was inappropriate to contemplate how handsome he was, how nice it felt to have his arms around her, or how much she wished she could verbalize what he meant to her.

Though he was quiet, Lydia supposed that Stiles's mind was attempting to process the ordeal he had been through. The tension in his body persisted, but she took solace in the fact that both his breathing and heartbeat had steadied to normal rates. She watched as his eyes blinked slowly and heavily, hoping he was edging towards sleep.

"Are you getting tired?" she asked, the sound of her voice muffled by her pillow.

"Maybe a little," he responded.

"Don't you want to close your eyes?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I wanna look at you."

"Stiles…" she answered, averting her eyes.

If he was going to keep looking at her like that – like she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen – if Stiles was going to keep looking at her like _that_ , then there was no way Lydia was getting through the rest of the night with any semblance of control over her heart.

"I can't help it," he continued without hesitation, words seeming to innocently skip across his lips.

"Stiles…stop."

His expression altered quickly; eyebrows cinched, top lip quickly drawn into his mouth. "Sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Shh…it's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Just try to relax. Okay?"

They remained quiet for a few minutes. Lydia listened to the sound of leaves rustling against the window, focusing on the feeling of Stiles's warm hands on her skin and his breath breezing across her face. It made her heart quicken. She wondered if he could tell. Her mind was beginning to drift, when Stiles spoke again.

"Lydia, would you do something for me?" he asked softly.

"Uh-huh," she replied.

"It's going to sound weird though."

"After the things we've seen…what could possibly sound weird to me?"

"Would you…would you sing to me?"

Lydia could feel her eyes widen. "What?"

"When I was a kid and I couldn't sleep…my mom…she would sing to me. It always helped."

"Stiles, you don't want to hear me to sing."

"Please…"

Lydia sighed loudly. She was starting to get the impression that Stiles knew exactly how much weight that word held when he said it to her. An overwhelming feeling of surprise filled her – not for the fact that Stiles may have figured it out – Stiles is _the one who always figures it out,_ but rather, surprise that if he had figured it out...it didn't bother her as much as she thought it should.

"Okay…but I'm warning you…my voice is nowhere near as good as your mom's was," she said with an indication of a smile on her lips which quickly faded as she caught herself revealing more than she had intended.

"Hey…how did you know she had a beautiful voice?" Stiles replied, arching an eyebrow.

"Umm…it's a long story…"

"Lydia…you can't just say something like _that_ —"

"Alright. It's…well…your mom and I…we sort of bonded years ago."

He lifted his head from the pillow, interrogatory expression splashed across his face. "How did I never know this?"

"It was kind of our secret. She helped me during a really rough time. I can tell you about later though… Right now, you need to rest."

"Tell me now. _Please_."

 _There he goes with that word again,_ she thought, but then Lydia realized it wasn't only his words that convinced her. She knew how much it would mean to Stiles to learn something new about his mother, and the glimmer of curiosity on his face was too much to resist. He suddenly looked hopeful...like the burden he was carrying could be lifted, and Lydia wanted nothing more than to see that happen…even if it was only for a few minutes.

"Okay. You win," she conceded, watching Stiles relax a bit more as he reached for her hand underneath the covers. "So…when I was 8 years old, I started sneaking out of the house to go on these walks. I couldn't stand the way my parents were fighting. I would stay out for as long as possible, just so I didn't have to listen to them shouting at each other."

"Lydia...I didn't know. I'm sorry… I shouldn't have pushed you to talk about this. You don't have to." His eyes were pressed with concern, and he tightened his grip on her hand.

"It's okay. I can tell you," she assured him, absentmindedly adjusting a tuft of his hair. "One day in the early fall, I found myself in front of your house. You and your parents were in the driveway washing the Jeep. There was this little scruffy dog running around, and you were all joking and laughing…spraying each other with the hose. I sat across the street and watched for the longest time. It was obvious how much your parents loved you and each other. I remember thinking, _I wish I lived there. That house is filled with love._ It gave me such a peaceful feeling. I wanted to feel that again, so I made sure to walk by whenever I had the chance…especially on the way home from school. Most days your mom was alone. Your dad would be at work, and you were probably at little league, or at Scott's house…or detention…" she teased.

Lydia detected a hint of pride in the smile that spread across Stiles's face as he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. She imagined that her comment prompted fond memories of the trouble he and Scott frequently seemed to get into, and she couldn't help but smile back.

"Anyway, Claudia would be outside in the garden or in the garage working on the Jeep. She would always be singing, and she had the most lovely voice I had ever heard. I was mesmerized by it. I found an excuse to pass your house nearly every day – hoping to hear her sing...even just for a little while."

"One day, she saw me and came over to say hello. She was incredibly warm and kind. Within minutes, she had invited me in for tea and cookies. We talked…and right away I was at ease with her. She told me that I could visit whenever I wanted – so I did…and she would help me with my homework, show me different hairstyles, teach me about the Jeep and how it worked. I loved it, and for a good part of the school year it was our little ritual. I don't think I could have gotten through my parents' divorce without her…"

Her voice trailed off as she struggled to withhold her emotion. Stiles brought her hand to his face, grazing his lips against her knuckles, his eyes intently fixed on her with understanding and tenderness.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and continued. "But in the spring, she started changing. She would forget things…her mind would drift. She looked tired; not herself. The symptoms progressed until one particular day when I stopped by and she didn't remember me." As she spoke, Lydia could feel the tears forming. "She told me strangers weren't welcome in her home. It was like she was a different person. I knew something was seriously wrong, and I didn't want to upset her, so I left. The next time I saw her, the same thing happened, so I didn't go back. It wasn't long after that I learned about the dementia."

Stiles looked thoughtfully at her, wiping a tear from her cheek that she didn't even realize had escaped. "It makes sense now."

"What does?" she asked.

"After she died, when I came back to school, you were…different. It was like you were always a little bit sad. I had no idea then, but…you loved her. You were brokenhearted, just like I was. Weren't you?"

She nodded. "You noticed that?"

He pulled their joined hands close to his chest and Lydia could feel his heart beating against the back of her wrist. "Yeah, I noticed. You never said anything though..." he wondered aloud.

"Claudia told me that we could keep the visits between us if I wanted. She said that someday I should tell you and that I would know when the time was right. Funny, it's as though she knew we would end up being friends." _Friends,_ she thought _. That word scarcely seems to cover it._

"That sounds like her. She loved a good secret…and she was very perceptive. I kind of wish you had told me back then. Why didn't you? Was it because you didn't want to talk about what was going on with your parents?"

"Partly…but mostly…I didn't think it would be fair," she explained. "She was your mother…I only had a short time with her – you didn't need me making it about myself."

Stiles looked at her in amazement. "You're wrong about that. Maybe we could have helped each other. I would have never thought that you were making it about yourself."

"Yeah, but that's because you constantly look for the best in me…even if it isn't there," she confessed.

"I can't help it. That's what I see…because…it's the truth, Lydia."

His words were simple, but they left her speechless. Her heart soared with feelings of gratitude. Her mind was consumed with wonder – wonder at how she could possibly be so lucky to have someone like Stiles in her life, someone whose unwavering faith in her never ceases to amaze her, someone who already sees in her the person that she wants to be. Without a second thought, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. At first, he froze underneath her lips, but then…Lydia was almost positive he pressed closer. She hesitated a few seconds longer before pulling away.

"You know what?...I think you're right. We could have helped each other. I'm sorry I waited so long."

"It's okay. It helps me to know about it now and…maybe it worked out this way for a reason."

"You should try and relax for a while," she coaxed, gliding her hand through his hair and letting it come to rest at the back of his neck. She could tell by the way Stiles was looking at her, that he was waiting for her to sing, so she reached around to turn off the light and shifted back to face him.

Then, Lydia began softly singing the lyrics to the first tune that popped into her mind.

"I was lost  
And you were found  
You seemed to stand on solid ground

I was weak  
And you were strong  
And me and my guitar,  
we strummed along, oh

Sweet misery you cause me  
That's what you called me  
Sweet misery you cause me

I was blind  
But oh, how you could see  
You saw the beauty in everything, everything and me..."

Before she finished the second verse, Stiles spoke gently to her. "You're wrong about that too," he said under a yawn. "Your voice is beautiful…just like you."

The compliment tugged at Lydia's heart, towing her closer to him. Through the darkness, she could tell that Stiles was fully relaxing, she even felt the feint trace of a smile on his lips against her forehead. About halfway through the song, he drifted to sleep, and Lydia was not far behind him.

* * *

*Lyrics: Sweet Misery by Michelle Branch


	5. Perception

**8:23 AM**

Lydia awoke to the haze of sunlight streaming through her window. Her eyes drowsily opened and then focused on a familiar face. At first, she thought she may have been dreaming. Once her mind cleared, she knew she was not.

Stiles was still asleep, and remarkably, he appeared to be completely relaxed – his face peaceful, lips parted, breathing calm and steady. His right arm was hanging off the bed while his left was under the covers, still clutching her hand to his chest. Placing her other palm to his forehead, Lydia was pleased to find that it was cool to the touch. She exhaled with relief – no temperature.

She dreaded the thought of disturbing him from such a tranquil state. As she looked down at his face, the fluttering in her stomach flared. She realized that despite the reason Stiles was in her bed, instead of his own, she felt content. The notion triggered an immediate incursion of guilt.

 _What the hell is wrong with me? He just went through one of the worst experiences in his life, and all I can think about is how nice it is to be close to him. He's so good. If he knew how selfish I am, he would be disgusted._ The thought made Lydia even more reluctant to wake him. As human as he was, Stiles seemed to have a supernatural ability to read her. _He notices everything. That is going to be a problem…because either my face or my voice is going to give me away_ , she worried.

Quickly Lydia decided that the problem wasn't Stiles at all, it was her. Last night, she let her guard down, she allowed herself to get caught up in emotion. She let herself get too comfortable with him – she got too close to him, too quickly. She would have to do better today because right now, Stiles needed her help. What he didn't need was for Lydia to complicate things by letting him know how she feels about him.

She waited a few minutes longer, somewhat unsuccessfully attempting to collect herself, before finding the courage to squeeze his hand and softly call his name.

"Five more minutes…" he muttered, beginning to turn over.

The action must have ignited pain in his shoulder; his eyes flashing open with shock. Lydia observed a myriad of expressions cross his face – confusion, clarity, anguish – as his mind must have been racing to recall the previous night. He sat up, vigorously rubbing his face as though it would wipe the memories away.

"Hey, it's okay. You're safe," she soothed, placing a hand on his arm.

Stiles stretched to return her touch but the soreness in his shoulder made him stop with a grimace.

"How do you feel?" Lydia asked.

"Um…a little achy but mostly normal…I guess," he replied, anxiously tapping his fingers on his knee. "How about you? Did you sleep okay?"

In the morning light, Lydia felt exposed. She shrugged and tried to divert the subject back to Stiles. "Well, you don't have a temperature – that's one piece of good news. I should probably change your bandage now." Fretfully evading eye contact, she struggled to fill space with words. "I think there are more in the guest bathroom or maybe in the linen closet. I'll go check. Be back in a sec and then…"

She stirred to get up from the bed, but Stiles's grip on her hand immobilized her. Deducing that she had already failed to disguise her nerves, heat rose within her cheeks…and she recognized that she must be blushing…again.

 _What is he doing to me? I've already lost count of how many times I've blushed in the last eight hours!_ It was too obvious a tell, a blatant indication of her feelings, and it was not a sensation she wanted to get accustomed to.

"Lydia, I asked how _you_ are doing." There was an edge to his voice that she normally only heard when he was frustrated with her.

"Me? I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" she prattled, uselessly fiddling with the pillows and sheets, keeping her head down in the hopes that her long hair would shield her face from his view.

"For one thing, you won't look me in the eyes. Also, you are straightening out the bed…while we are still in it."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she claimed, voice getting higher with every syllable.

"Come on, Lydia. Don't lie to me. Did I do something to make you uncomfortable? If I did, you have to tell me." Stiles moved to push her hair behind her shoulder, but she recoiled from the contact. When she didn't answer, he let go of her hand. "Never mind…I get it."

"You do?" she said without elaborating – just in case they weren't referring to the same "it".

"It's…because of what I did. Isn't it? You're afraid of me now."

"What? No, it's nothing like that. I–"

"Of course, it is!" he shouted, making Lydia jump. He abruptly stood and stepped away from the bed, creating some space between them. Turning away, he angrily brushed the back of his hand across his upper lip as though he was trying to prevent any additional words from escaping.

When he faced her again, Lydia was wide-eyed and searching for a way to diffuse the tension. "Stiles, that's not it." She crawled across the bed, kneeling at the edge and grasping for his shirt to bring him closer.

He didn't budge, and when he spoke his voice was eerily calm. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled. This is my fault. How can I expect you trust me after what I've done?"

"Stiles, stop it. I do trust you. I have _never been_ and _could never_ be afraid of you." Lydia tugged at the grey tee shirt for the second time.

He took one step forward but maintained a fair amount of distance between them. "You must have considered it. I know I have. What if I'm different? I mean...since the Nogitsune…sometimes I still wonder… What if it changed me permanently? What if this is only the beginning?"

"No," she replied, simply.

"Lydia—"

"No," she interrupted, firmly shaking her head.

"How can you be sure? What if I hurt someone else? What if I hurt you? Lydia, I couldn't stand it."

"I told you last night – I know you would never hurt me. You might not be sure of that, but I am." Pausing, she took a deep breath and released it with a sigh. "Listen to me…alright? The truth is, I _am_ keeping something from you…and I freaked out because I hate not being completely honest with you. I want to tell you – so badly – but I'm not ready yet. I promise I will tell you…and I swear it has nothing to do with not trusting you or being afraid of you. That couldn't be further from the truth. Does that make any sense? Could you be patient with me a bit longer?"

Lydia had already been down this road before, coming so close to expressing her feelings to him, only to let fear or poor timing silence her. Despite all of the progress they had made in the last year, she was losing hope that they would ever be together.

Stiles nodded and chewed on his lip. "Yeah. After everything you've done for me. It's the least I can do."

"Are you mad at me?" she asked timidly.

Stiles furrowed his brow. "Pretty sure I'm incapable of being mad at you."

She made one last attempt to draw him towards her. This time he didn't resist, closing the gap between them. Her hands clenched tightly on the soft fabric at the front of his shirt. Kneeling on the bed gave her petite frame a few extra inches, putting her nearly face to face with Stiles.

"I know you are hurting. I hate that you are. I could tell you none of this is your fault a million times, that you were fighting for your life and your actions were justified, but it wouldn't matter…because you already know that. What's really bothering you has nothing to do with fault or justification."

"You're right. It has everything to do with the fact that an action I took...resulted in a death, and now...I feel like…like I've lost something."

"Faith in yourself…and you're not sure you can get it back," she finished for him. "I know. I know because…that's how it was for me when we thought Meredith was dead. I knew I had put too much pressure on her. That if I had treated her like more than just a means to an end, she wouldn't have had a breakdown, she wouldn't have tried to kill herself. Do you remember how I was when we found out she hanged herself?"

He nodded, so she went on.

"I told you it was the same as if I had killed her myself. You listened; you understood the responsibility I felt. You said that it would take time for my heart to accept what my mind already knew to be true. That no single action or event caused Meredith's breakdown. It was a series of terrible things over the course of her life that brought her to that point. I couldn't believe you then – the guilt was too devastating. But you stood by me, you believed in me…until I could believe in myself again…and that is what I am going to do for you."

Stiles seemed to be hanging on Lydia's every word. His hands were now at her waist and he leaned closer. He was looking at her with such intensity that it made her heart ache – and the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

"Stiles, last tonight…before you came here, I had a premonition. I was drawing, when I heard the sound of metal crashing. Then I saw a flash of something shiny and silver. Based on what you told me, it was around the same time you were in the library."

Lydia turned, took her sketchbook from the nightstand, and began flipping through it, fervently pointing at the sketches – eyes, page after page of eyes. "Stiles, this is what I was drawing when I had the vision. Look at this."

"They're all the same," he said.

"Exactly. For months – ever since that night at Eichen with Brunski, I have been drawing these eyes. Always the same. Whenever I do, it sort of…calms...or I guess it centers me, but I didn't know why and I didn't know whose eyes they were. I felt like I should have been able to though…like the answer was right beneath the surface…except I couldn't reach it. Until now…the way you are looking at me…it made it all so clear. Stiles, it all makes sense," she asserted.

He looked at her, unsure of the connection she was making.

She continued, "These are the eyes of the kindest…the most selfless, brave, and gentle person that I have ever… _will_ ever know. A person who has risked his life for his friends, especially me, repeatedly. Stiles, they're your eyes."

Stiles looked at her in awe. "They are?"

"Yeah, they are. When Brunski forced me to listen to that cassette…to what he did to my grandmother…it was your voice that pulled me back from the edge. Ever since, your eyes have been doing the same. Making me feel safe whenever I draw them. There is no doubt in my mind that you are the same person you've always been – the one person in the world that I trust above anyone else."

"You mean that."

It wasn't a question, but she confirmed regardless. "Every single word." She touched his cheek, and just as the night before, he pressed his face into her hand and kissed her palm.

"What now?" he asked.

"I'm not sure…but as long as we are together, I think we can face anything."


	6. Momentum

**16 Hours Later: 12:23 AM**

It was after midnight, and Lydia was wide awake. Although she had offered to let him stay with her, Stiles insisted he should go home after school. When she met him by his locker, he refused the invitation without even considering it. He said that he had already put her through enough and didn't want to be an imposition – which in her mind, was completely ridiculous. That of course, led to some bickering. Nonetheless, Stiles won the argument because Lydia didn't want anyone to overhear them.

Lydia drove home alone, brimming with confusion and anger. She knew she didn't imagine it – she and Stiles _had_ made real progress that morning, but before she knew it, he was pushing her away. They agreed to deal with everything together – and then, within a few hours, it had all changed. She was furious with herself for giving in so easily and concerned that Stiles was going to make a habit of trying to deal with everything alone.

She looked at the clock for what seemed like the hundredth time and impatiently waited to hear a knock at the window. The silence was deafening. It was the first night in months that she didn't feel like drawing. She tried to read but it was impossible to concentrate. She polished her nails, then decided she didn't like the color, so she removed it. She braided her hair, then unwound her handiwork and brushed it smooth. She paced and reorganized her room trying to pass the time.

* * *

 **2:02 AM**

Finally, Lydia's phone rang. Without even looking at the caller ID, she answered it. "Stiles, what is it?" He didn't respond. "Stiles," she repeated, "Stiles, are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here." He was clearly fatigued, and his breathing was labored. "Did I wake you?"

"No. I couldn't sleep. What's going on? Are you alright?"

"Not really. Lydia, I'm sorry. I thought I could be on my own, but…I can't—"

"I'll be right over."

She quickly changed into a pair of leggings, a sweater, and some flats, then picked up her keys and flew down the stairs. Within ten minutes, she was standing on the front porch of the Stilinski home.

Stiles must have been anxiously awaiting her arrival, because the door tore open before Lydia even had the chance to knock. Their bodies connected immediately; Lydia's forward momentum carrying her directly into his arms.

They held each other for a while before Lydia let go, abruptly remembering the bruises covering his chest and abdomen. "Sorry. Did I hurt you? I was so worried, I forgot." She looked him over, but if their embrace had been painful in any way he wasn't letting on.

Stiles drew her back into his arms, resting his chin on her head. "No, it's fine…just feels so good to have you here," he breathed. "I'm sorry about this afternoon. I'm not sure why I acted like that."

Normally, Lydia would have given him a difficult time – at least for a bit. Their natural way of interacting often took the form of playful banter, but in this instance, the relief she felt from being in his arms influenced her to let it go. "I'll forgive you…under one condition."

"What's that?"

"You have to promise not to shut me out like that again."

He held her even more tightly. "I promise."

After another long moment, they reluctantly parted. As they walked down the hallway to Stiles's room, Lydia tried to get more information from him. "So, what happened? Were you having a panic attack?"

"No, it was a nightmare…but it was so vivid – it felt real," he replied, rubbing his eyes.

"I'm sure it did. You've been through a trauma. It's going to take time."

"Yeah, it might be helpful if we had a few months break in between traumas around here," he said, allowing a touch of levity to filter through his voice. "Might give a person the chance to recover…you know…so we can fully appreciate the next one."

Lydia smiled, glad of his effort to lighten the mood. Though nowhere near his usual level of sarcastic wit, it was surely an improvement.

When they approached the doorway, she felt Stiles take her hand. "Speaking of…" he continued, "…I never even asked how you are healing. Lydia, I'm sorry. I'm so messed up right now."

"It's alright."

"No, it isn't. It's barely been a week since you got out of the hospital and now, I've pulled you into this mess. The night it happened, I…" his voice trailed off as he put his other hand through his hair and rubbed at the base of his neck.

Obviously, Stiles had wanted to say more but Lydia wasn't sure she was ready to hear it. She remembered the look on his face when he saw her bleeding on floor of his father's office. There was more than simple concern in his eyes. That night, he looked at her the way he used to – before Malia. As it happened, that was the same night Stiles and Malia broke up. Though the two girls weren't particularly close, it bothered Lydia to think that her relationship with Stiles may have been a factor in the break up. The idea that she could have been a source of pain for either of them upset her. If she was, what did that mean? It was all too much to process right now.

"I'm alright…and please, don't apologize for that", she interrupted before Stiles could complete the sentence. "It's not like you haven't had a lot on your mind. You don't need to be worrying about me too."

"Don't need to worry about you? You can't think that I— Lydia, you're not just anyone – you're… _you_ ," he said, following her across the room. "It's not that I didn't think of it…you're usually on my mind anyway, I should have—"

"Stiles, enough. It's okay."

"Lydia…would you shut up and let me apologize," he said in a frustrated tone.

"Did you just tell me to shut up…while you are trying to apologize?" she scoffed.

They stood in front of his bed, staring at each other – unsure of why they were arguing. Silence and then laughter ensued.

"I'm sorry," they said at the same time, still chuckling.

"It's good to see you laugh," Lydia remarked.

"You too." Stiles grinned, took both of her hands, and gave them a squeeze. "And whether you like it or not, I do worry about you."

"I know…and I'm grateful. I am."

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked, motioning towards her stomach with their joined hands.

"I feel fine, and Dr. Geyer says it's healing well," she assured him.

"What about…not sleeping and all?" he persisted, letting go of one of her hands to gently cup her cheek.

She shrugged as she replied, "Oh, that. Well...I think that might be part of…you know…being a banshee."

They looked at each other seemingly unsure of what to do next, then Lydia went on. "Could I ask you something?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Are you going to tell Scott what happened?"

Stiles moved his hand to her shoulder, thumb lingering over the pulse point in her neck as he opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again.

"You know he'll understand…right?" Lydia coaxed.

"He's going to be so disappointed in me," he said with a quiver in his tone.

"No, he isn't."

"But I left…"

"Stiles, look at me." She waited for his eyes to meet hers before finishing her thought. "He is your best friend, your brother – he loves you and he _will_ understand. I know it…and so do you."

"I'm afraid."

"Would it help if I went with you?"

"You would do that?"

"Of course, I will."

"Tomorrow?" he asked, sucking in a sharp breath.

She watched tears trickle down his face. "Yeah, we'll talk to him tomorrow. You'll feel better once you tell him. I promise."

He nodded and let out the breath he had been holding.

Lydia couldn't stop herself from stepping closer. Without a second thought, she reached up to wipe his cheek with her hand. "You think you can sleep now?"

"I should probably try," he said, fighting a yawn.

While Stiles climbed into bed, Lydia pulled his chair over, so she could sit with him.

"Lydia, don't. Will you stay with me?"

Common sense told Lydia not to comply, but evidently her heart was not interested in heeding the warning. _The please was definitely implied,_ she rationalized _._ She removed her shoes and crawled in next to Stiles. Almost, instinctively his right arm enveloped her waist. She wanted nothing more than to dissolve right into his warmth, but uncertainty made her entire body tense. To Lydia, it felt very much as though they were acting like a couple, but she didn't know how Stiles might be interpreting the behavior. She considered the possibility that the contact had a different meaning for her than it did for Stiles, and she wasn't sure it was wise to allow herself to get used to the feeling of his arms around her.

Noticing the tension, Stiles apologized. "Sorry. I shouldn't have…" He withdrew his arm and gave her a weak smile.

She pursed her lips together, trying to decide whether to protect herself from the likelihood of future disappointment or to give in to her desire. It wasn't a difficult choice. This might be her only chance to explore another side to the connection they shared, and she wasn't going to let it pass her by. There had been too much of that already.

"Don't be sorry. It's okay," she corrected, placing his arm where it had been. "I wasn't expecting…but it's fine. I promise." She snuggled closer to make sure he was convinced. "Do you want to talk about the nightmare? It might help."

"No, I don't want to think about it right now. I just want to be with you."

Her cheeks flushed as she wondered what he meant by that. _Does he just not want to be alone right now,_ _or does he_ _need me?_ Fully aware that it wasn't the right time to ask, Lydia remained quiet. All she knew was that if the roles were reversed, her answer would have been the latter.

As they lie next to each other with only moonlight to lessen the dark, Lydia could feel Stiles massaging circles on her back. The motion relaxed her, and she breathed in deeply, taking in his scent. It reminded her of pine needles mixed with clean linen and another pleasant note which she couldn't quite identify. She felt comfortable enough to lean closer, propping her head against his chest. In response, Stiles tightened his hold of her and she could hear his heart thumping faster. The reaction offered Lydia a flicker of hope – perhaps he was feeling the same way she did, maybe he wanted to tell her, but was afraid…like she was.

"Feel any better?" she asked.

"Much," he sighed, planting a kiss on her forehead and letting his lips linger for a few extra seconds. That gesture reassured her beyond all comprehension and beyond any sense of reason, but then, Stiles always seemed to know exactly what she needed. Lydia hoped with all of her heart that she did the same for him.

That was the only night they attempted to stay apart.


	7. Clarity

**Eight Days Later: 10:56 AM**

It was Saturday morning. Stiles and Lydia were sitting on the floor of her bedroom with text books sprawled around them. They faced each other, each with a pen in hand. Stiles was rhythmically tapping his on his knee – a nervous tick that Lydia had actually come to find endearing. As she focused on the sound, she let her mind wander from her AP Biology notes.

After Stiles told Scott what happened, the burden on his shoulders lightened considerably. Stiles was still hurting, and the nightmares persisted, but he was making progress with each day that passed.

For the entire week that followed, Lydia and Stiles had been inseparable. If possible, they spent most of the day together. When Scott and the pack ventured into Eichen House to talk to Dr. Valeck about his book, the pair never left each other's side. Their fear was palpable as they hid from the Dread Doctors, but with Stiles's arms around her, Lydia was certain they would make it out of the darkness together. Nights were spent in either one of their bedrooms. When Stiles couldn't sleep, Lydia sang to him. When he woke from vividly troubling nightmares, the two would talk until he relaxed. Eventually, he admitted that he was actually having a recurring nightmare which involved seeing Lydia, instead of Donovan, in the library – dead. Though he was hesitant to delve into much detail, getting it out in the open seemed to provide some relief, and the frequency of the dreams lessened. Things were beginning to calm down, to become normal – well…normal for them at least.

Spending so much time together breathed new life into Stiles and Lydia's relationship. The immeasurable trust between them had strengthened and blossomed further than ever before. It felt familiar, yet novel, and powerfully fulfilling. Beyond that, they settled into a heightened comfort level that gave Lydia a sense of peace she could hardly describe. If it had been a physical place, she would have wanted to crawl inside it with Stiles and never come out.

After a while, Stiles spoke. "Lydia?"

She waited for a moment, letting the sound of his voice wash over her. There was something about the way Stiles said her name that made it special. "Mmm," she replied.

"What are you thinking about?" he inquired, pressing his pen to his lips.

"Um…honestly," she said, glancing over at him, "I was thinking about all the time we've been spending together."

"Getting on your nerves…aren't I?" he responded, with a wink.

"Yeah…big time," she said with a smirk. "Seriously though, despite the circumstances, it's been really nice to have you here. We hadn't…I mean…things were different for a while."

"I know. I never got used to that," Stiles said rather remorsefully, before resuming the thumping of his pen. "Lydia, if I haven't said it before…thank you. I would never be getting through this without you."

"You have said it – more than once – but you don't need to," she assured him. "You would have done the same for me. I'm just glad you came to me. It means everything…" she thought for a moment before proceeding, "…and Stiles, the truth of the matter is – you are getting through this because you're strong...stronger than you give yourself credit for. I wish you could see yourself the way I do."

Stiles appeared quite taken by the compliment. He pensively nibbled on his lower lip, first looking down at his book, then back to Lydia. "You know that night, when you told me about my mom, it reminded me of something. I didn't bring it up because I thought it would be awkward for you to hear, but when you say things like that…and with the way it's been between us lately…I think maybe you should know," he rambled.

Lydia was sure she heard a note of apprehension in his voice. She wondered what he meant by "the way it's been between us lately." _Is this his way of telling me he needs space, that although the lines between friendship and more than friendship seem to be blurring, he only wants to be friends? Please, don't let that be it._

Stiles put his history textbook aside and inched closer until their knees made contact. Instantly, Lydia felt the tension leave her body. She observed that the drumming of his pen had also ceased. Lately, it seemed that unless Lydia and Stiles were touching, there was some sort of imbalance that needed correcting.

"It was my first day back to school after Mom died. I think Scott must have had detention because I was alone," he explained with a hint of sadness. "I noticed you across the playground with your friends. I…uh…kind of had this habit of watching what you were doing…" he said, clearing his throat. "Anyway, all of a sudden, you turned my way and I think we made eye contact for a second. Then you walked right up to me like it was the most natural thing in the world. I remember the way the sun was shining on your hair…" he surprised her with a gentle touch, brushing an errant strand behind her ear "…and the wind was blowing it all around you."

Lydia was mesmerized; watching as he continued down the length of her long tresses with his thumb and index finger. When she finally noticed that Stiles had stopped talking, it was difficult for her to form a coherent thought, let along speak. So instead, her eyes drifted to his face, encouraging him to continue.

"You looked at me with those gorgeous green eyes – the same way you are now – and you said, 'I know there is nothing I can say that will make you feel better…but someone as incredible as your mom could never really leave you. She is a part of you and that will never change.' And then you smiled that beautiful smile of yours and walked away. I sat there stunned, wondering – _How did she know my mom was incredible_?"

She closed her eyes, "I remember." Her words were barely audible. It was as though she feared they would interrupt the moment like an alarm clock in the middle of a good dream.

"Lydia, you were the first person to get through to me…not my dad, not even Scott…and they tried everything. They were both amazing the entire time but nothing they said resonated. It was like I couldn't hear them. But you…the way you said those words...you were so certain. I knew you had to be right. That day, that moment, that's when I knew."

"Knew what?" she asked as he took her hands.

"That's when I knew I loved you. And…I don't mean to pressure you or make you uncomfortable. I don't expect anything. I just need you to understand – the way I felt about you all those years, it was more than a crush."

Lydia looked at Stiles in astonishment. Her eyes blurry with tears.

"What's wrong?" he implored, tightening his grip.

In between sobs she managed to say, "I've been so stupid. I should have told you."

"What are you talking about? What should you have told me?"

"And I've been awful to you. I know it – ignoring you all of that time…"

"No, you weren't awful to me…we just didn't really talk, and the way I acted around you was a bit…much."

"That's not it. It was me – the entire time it was me."

"Lydia, I don't understand. Talk to me, _please_." He brought their hands up to his face and kissed her fingertips.

"I was afraid. I thought it would be better if I pretended not to remember you..." she wept.

Stiles drew her into an embrace. "Shhh…it's in the past…so much has changed since…" his voice trailed off, and he leaned back to look at her. "Wait, what do you mean you _pretended_?"

"Stiles, we've been in school together our entire lives. Of course, I knew you."

"Then why did—?"

"Because of your mom."

"My mom?" he questioned.

Lydia shifted to a kneeling position, making sure to maintain the contact between them. Whether it was the way they were seated on the floor, or the brightness of the late morning sunlight filtering through the windows behind them, Lydia's mind flashed to the day of the lunar eclipse. The day she kissed him.

"She had come to mean so much to me. I loved her, and I lost her. But even then, I could see all of these things I admired about her…in you. The way you listen for one…but also, your compassion and intelligence...you even have her sense of humor and her ability to be in the moment. I thought that if I spent time with you, we could easily become friends...and that scared me. So, I kept as much distance between us as possible. I pretended not to notice you. We were so young...and I didn't understand why...but when I got older, I realized that I was surrounding myself people that I could close myself off from...as if somehow it would protect me from feeling that loss again."

"I had no idea," Stiles said with awe, keeping his hands on her back.

"Later on…when I thought that you might have feelings for me, I convinced myself they couldn't be genuine because I never let you get to know me. But you did… You always have – better than anyone. Once we started spending time together it was apparent. Then, I felt myself relying on you, wanting to be close to you, and I let you in a little more each day. We built a real friendship and…when I kissed you…"

"Lydia…"

"When I kissed you…I knew I loved you…and still I couldn't say anything."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. This place…there always something getting in the way…just one supernatural drama after another, without a break. It never seemed like the right time. We were so close...and then you weren't you. Not long before that, Allison…she had helped me work up the nerve to tell you...but when we got you back…then she was gone. I couldn't stop it from happening – and all the pain of losing someone I loved came crashing down on me. It was suffocating. So again, I did nothing." She stopped to inhale deeply, tears spilling over her eyelashes. "When I finally realized I was wrong – that it wasn't helping to pretend I wasn't completely in love with you…it was too late. You had moved on, and I knew I missed my chance. I tried to be pleased for you…tried to deny what I've been feeling. Up until now, I've been able to get away with it…because we've been apart more than usual."

"Were you ever going to tell me?" he asked hesitantly.

"I wanted to, but the longer I waited, the more impossible it seemed. But when you came to me the other night, all the feelings I have been trying to bury…they kind of forced their way out. The other day when we argued… _this_ is what I was keeping from you. I wasn't afraid of you – I was afraid that you would see right through me, that you could tell I needed you just as much as you needed me. How could I do that to you? How could I choose now, of all times, to drop that on you – after denying it for so long…especially when you were already hurting?"

Stiles let go of her back, looking down at his hands in disbelief. "I don't know what to say. I hoped for a long time that we could be more but…"

Lydia pursed her lips, trying to keep her bottom lip from quivering. Feeling her chest tighten she thought, _Here it comes. It's too late. We'll never be more than friends._ She held her breath and prepared to have her heart broken. _It's not like I wouldn't deserve it. Is this what he felt like every time I refused to let him in?_

He tucked a finger under her chin lifting her gaze towards his, but she closed her eyes.

"Lydia look at me."

"I can't," she protested, afraid that if she looked into his eyes, she would crumble.

"Come on… _please_." Once she complied, he finished his statement. "If I had any idea that you could possibly feel the same way, things would have been so different. I would have done anything to be with you. I still would."

"Did you say… _still_? Even after all this time?"

He pressed his forehead to hers smiling, "Then, now, still – it's always been you. It will always be you, Lydia."

She gasped, relief fighting to work its way into her body. "But why didn't you give up on me? I don't deserve you."

"Don't say that. Not to me. There are so many reasons... It's not just how smart, or how courageous, or how beautiful you are. It's the way you try, the way you never let your friends down – no matter what it costs you, the way you finish my sentences, the way you challenge me, the way you believe in me…even the way you lose your temper. You're my other half. I don't feel like myself without you. You are all I've ever wanted...all I will ever want."


	8. Affirmation

**11:24 AM**

Lydia's heart was pounding. Seemingly aware of that fact, Stiles brought her hand to his chest, letting her feel that his was reacting the same way. For what seemed like a long time, they were frozen in place.

Then, Lydia placed her hands on his face and leaned closer until their lips were centimeters away. This time, it was Stiles who closed the distance between them. Lydia felt his hands on her back, drawing her nearer until their lips collided in a kiss. It was different from the first time – slower and full of intention. Their mouths melded together, each of them exploring and savoring the experience until they parted breathless and bleary eyed.

Stiles playfully broke the silence that followed saying, "Yeah, if I had any idea you loved me, there would have been a lot more of that," and making them both laugh.

Without thinking, Lydia brushed his leg with her hand the same way she had nearly a year before.

Catching her hand with his own, he stood up, pulling her with him. "Seriously though, can there be more of that? I think there should be like…a lot more of that." A shy grin crossed his lips as he quickly stole a second kiss.

Lydia smiled brightly. She hadn't seen him happy in a long time. "I think that could be arranged," she replied standing on the tips of her toes, so she could return the gesture.

Stiles leaned into her, his arms encircling her with their warmth. What started out as a tender kiss deepened – neither of them wanting it to end. Lydia's hands tightened around his plaid shirt and she hastily pushed it off his shoulders. When she seized the hem of his dark blue tee, Stiles timidly broke from the kiss looking slightly amazed.

"Um…Lydia…do you…I mean…are we…? Is this really happening?" He was completely tongue-tied.

Lydia couldn't contain a teasing laugh. "Only if you want to…but I think we've waited long enough," she said, devilishly moving closer and placing a kiss at the base of this throat, causing him to shudder.

Stiles's right eyebrow arched and before Lydia could count to two, his hands were promptly at her waist, pulling her tightly to him. She found the edge of his shirt again. Unlike the night when he came to her window, she drew it upwards without hesitation. As she lifted the tee over his head, Lydia lost her balance...but Stiles's arms were quickly in place to stabilize her. Her hands gingerly explored his chest, tracing the now faded bruises with her fingertips and noticing how the muscles underneath tightened in response to her touch. She looked up into his eyes watching the sunlight reveal flex of gold within the rich brown color of his irises. Inhaling deeply, she waited for him to kiss her again.

As if he were able to read her mind, Stiles bent down confidently crushing his lips to hers. Lydia returned the kiss allowing all of the emotion she had withheld to pass through it. Then, Stiles turned his attention to her blouse. The smile that traversed his lips while he unfastened the buttons made Lydia blush, only this time she didn't mind. Her heart raced faster, causing a lightheaded sensation to flood her mind, but she did not want the feeling to dissipate. She couldn't help but be impressed by how gently he touched her, his warm hands traveling along her spine and then around to her waist.

Observing the uncovered scar on her right side, he took pause. As quickly as it had materialized, the handsome smile vanished from his face. Lydia observed Stiles flinch as he caressed the mark lightly with his thumb, looking as though he could feel the pain she had experienced.

"When I saw you like that, I felt so helpless. It physically hurt me to leave you. I hate myself for… If I had it to do over, I would have never left you…not even for one second."

"I saw how concerned you were though. Seeing how much you cared…it meant the world to me," Lydia assured him.

Stiles stared for another second before bending down and delicately touching his lips to the mending wound. Lydia trembled as the warmth that his kiss left behind spread over her entire body. As he straightened up, she leaned into him, placing her head over his heart while he stroked her strawberry-blonde waves.

"I love you so much, Lydia."

When she lifted her head to look at him, both of their eyes were misting with tears.

"I think you know that now," he continued, "…but…I needed to say it."

"Say it as often as you want. I promise, I'll never tire of hearing it."

They held each other for a few minutes before Stiles tilted his head down to kiss her – even more passionately than before. Collapsing on the bed together, they became completely lost in each other.

Lydia senses were overwhelmed. She reveled in the touch of Stiles's hands on her skin, his breath tickling her face and neck, the weight of his body resting on hers. He was attentive and considerate – always making sure she was comfortable in subtle ways like brushing her hair away from her face or adjusting the pillow under her head. He was gentle when he needed to be and less so when he didn't need to be. Lydia could tell that he was as nervous as she was, but it didn't matter. To her, it made everything more profound. Even though there had been others for each of them, this time was new and different. The love and admiration behind every touch was something that could never be compared. Something she could never experience with anyone else. The closer Stiles was, the closer she wanted him to be. Lydia wished she could memorize every minute of their time together but lost count of all the kisses, caresses, and giggles between them.

* * *

 **5:13 PM**

A few hours afterward, Lydia awoke to find it was still daylight. Her head was resting on Stiles's bare chest, their arms and legs tangled securely together. Lifting her head to gaze at him, she took in the peaceful expression on his face. She allowed herself to briefly ponder the events of the past week and was caught off-guard by the upsurge of emotion that followed.

Little more than a week before, she wouldn't have imagined they could be this close. She had almost come to terms with the fact that he would never be hers. She was prepared to remain friends; to love him from a distance. She was even regretfully learning to live with the chronic ache in her heart, thinking that she had missed her chance and had no one to blame but herself.

Now everything had changed; the pair had progressed from a somewhat strained friendship to admitting their enduring love for each other in a matter of days. Lydia was fully aware that she could never again come to terms with a life in which she and Stiles were apart. Her feelings for him were so strong she thought they might consume her. _If it's this intense now,_ _what will it be like after a month or a year?_ she worried.

Consequentially, the fears that had kept her standing still for years began to rise. They spread over her like murky grey clouds before a storm. Fear of letting herself depend on and need him. Fear that he would be taken from her. Fear that she would disappoint him. _What if I make him unhappy?_ _What if he chooses to leave?_ The fact that they had finally let each other in had opened up a world of possibility, but it also meant that her fears could become a reality.

Forcefully, Lydia pushed the thoughts from her mind. She repositioned her head on Stiles's chest and focused on the sounds of his heartbeat and breathing. The rhythmic pattern calmed her. She was determined not to let fear keep her from being the happiest she had ever been. Whatever the cost, her hopes for them had become truth and she was not letting go. She just needed one last bit of reassurance.

"Stiles…Stiles wake up." When he didn't respond she placed a kiss on his chin. The smallest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, yet he kept his eyes closed – pretending to sleep. "Sti—les…wake up…wake up…" she whispered. Still no response. She leaned in, kissing one cheek, then the other, then his forehead, and even his eyelids.

When she got to the tip of his nose, he broke into a full smile muttering, "Lydia, I think you missed a spot."

"But I was so sure I got them all…" she said slyly.

"Nope," he said, pointing to his lips. "You missed right here."

"Oh…you're right. I did. Let me fix that," she pouted, leaning in to ardently kiss him.

When she pulled away, Stiles's beautiful brown eyes were open. Those remarkable eyes radiated so much love and affection that Lydia knew she could look into them forever.

"See that…a kiss from Lydia Martin was all I needed to revive me," he sighed with content.

At first, she was relieved that Stiles seemed oblivious to the internal conflict she had just battled, but once more his insight astounded her.

"I'm scared too you know…but we're going to be okay, Lyds." Then he wrapped his arms tightly around her and repeated the words she had said to him only a few days before. "As long as we are together, I think we can face anything."

She noticed it was the first time he called her "Lyds". The concept making her feel as though she were really _his_ and filling her stomach with butterflies. "I love you," she replied.

"It feels so good to say this – I know you do."

"I'm glad…but just in case, I'm going to make sure I show you how much every day."


End file.
